


fortune favours the brave

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [11]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 07:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17803436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: It's Valentine's Day and Newt is single. Hermann offers a solution.





	fortune favours the brave

**Author's Note:**

> for the anon prompt: "I loved your prompt fills! Can you write the one that starts "“It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m single"? That one seems really cute!"

“It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m single,” Newt says, hopping up to sit on the edge of Hermann’s desk. Hermann makes a disgruntled sound of protest, but Newt ignores him, says, again, “It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m single.”

With a long suffering sigh and a searching look towards the heavens—or, in this case, the ceiling of their lab—Hermann asks, bluntly, “And this concerns me…how exactly?”

Newt pouts, grabs one of the pencils— _pencils_ , honestly, Herms, what is it, the 2000s?—and plays with it between his fingers. “Well…I figured you’d probably know how to get a date,” he prods, and Hermann scowls.

“I have absolutely no idea how you thought I would be a good person to ask,” he says flatly, “given that my own track-record with relationships is…practically nonexistent.”

The admission gives Newt a pause. “Oh,” he says, lamely. It’s…it’s surprising, honestly—Hermann may be a bit prickly and a workaholic, but he’s engaging and wicked funny and pretty hot, actually.

He fights down the rising blush at the thought. Damn hopeless crush. Newt clears his throat in an attempt to pull himself to the present. “Well, you can’t be that bad at it,” he insists, “I mean, didn’t you date that model? What’s her name, Vanessa?”

Hermann squints at him. “Vanessa? What—oh.  _Vanessa_.” His lips twitch. “Newton, Vanessa is my sister  _Karla’s_  girlfriend.”

“What?” Newt gapes at him, then feels kind of bad. Because, if he’s being honest, he spent a few weeks—well, months, whatever—nursing a grudge against her on principal. Jealous—and over what? It’s not as if he had a chance with Hermann in the first place. He’s still not entirely sure that the mathematician doesn’t hate him, and they saved the world together.

Hermann clears his throat. “Newton, did you hear anything I just said?”

“Er, no, sorry,” Newt replies. Hermann sighs, plucks the pencil from his grasp.

“I said, we’re both obviously out of practice—and what better way to practice than with each other?” Hermann questions. Newt feels faint. It’s too good to be true.

“Come again?”

Hermann shakes his head, expression the one he wears when Newt’s being particularly aggravating. “Neither of us have gone on a date in a while, what with this whole Kaiju-war business. It would be good if we practice going on a date with each other, and it will resolve your lack of date on Valentine’s Day,” he points out. For a second, something flickers across his face, before he adds, “As friends, of course.”

“Yeah,” Newt echoes. “As friends.” He tries to hide the hollowness in his voice.  _You idiot, of course he means as friends._

Despite Hermann’s assurances that they’re not going anywhere terribly fancy, Newt spends an hour locked in his bathroom, trying to force his hair to lay flat and freaking out.  _Just as friends_ , he repeats to himself.

(Even if he wants more.)

His doorbell rings at half-past seven, sharp, just when Hermann said he’d pick Newt up. Newt’s nerves are instantly a thousand times worse. He tries to pat down his hair, checks in the mirror to make sure that he looks alright, and tries to push the ominous pit in his stomach away, and opens the door.

Hermann’s standing outside the door, maybe half a foot away, clad in a sharp-cut blazer and a crisp black shirt.

“I feel underdressed,” Newt jokes weakly, trying not to devour the sight of his lab partner in properly-fitted clothing. If he looks good in the ill-fitting sweater-vests, the effect is a thousandfold when the fabric is tailored properly.

Hermann shakes his head. “I don’t know what you mean. You look—quite nice, yourself.” He offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Feeling like a flustered teen, Newt grips the proffered arm, and focuses on not tripping over his own feet. “S—so,” he squeaks, “you gonna tell where we’re going?”

Hermann shoots him an enigmatic look. “Patience, Newton.” Newt sighs.

The place, as it turns out, is an upscale café. The waiter leads them to a table for two, hidden at the back. Newt tries to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. Just friends, he scolds, relax. Still, his leg begins to jitter.

Hermann shoots him a sympathetic smile and places a hand over his. Newt draws in a breath, tries not to faint. Hermann, attention already focused on his own menu, doesn’t notice.

Newt tries to keep his voice level when he asks, “So, what would you recommend?” Hermann lowers his menu, lets out a hum.

“Well, the Swiss and mushroom sandwich is delectable, and their cinnamon rolls are tooth-achingly sweet and topped with cream-cheese frosting, just as you prefer,” he replies.

Newt’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest at the knowledge that Hermann remembers that he prefers cream-cheese frosting on his cinnamon rolls. Ridiculous. And yet, here he is, sitting in a café with Hermann Gottlieb for the second time since their disastrous meeting in ‘17 and they’re not yelling at each other, so anything’s possible.

“Y—yeah,” Newt stutters, realising he’s been silent for too long. “Yeah, yeah, I—I think I will order that, actually.”

They eat in relative silence—that is to say, speaking in pleasant tones without breaking into an argument—and Newt feels twitchier and twitchier as time passes, nerves growing more and more frayed as anxiety claws at the back of his mind.

By the end, he’s only replying in short sentences, and Hermann senses something’s not right with him. They leave early, Newt practically hightailing it back to his quarters once they get back to the Shatterdome.

He spends half an hour on breathing exercises, tries not to have an anxiety-induced panic-attack. In that, he’s only partially successful, but, well, it’s better than breaking down in public and embarrassing Hermann.

With a calmer, if still-slightly shaky, breath, he crawls off of the chair and strips out of his clothes, throws on a pair of comfortable sweats and a loose graphic tee, and lays on his bed, happy to drift between wakefulness and sleep.

At some point, he actually does fall asleep, because he opens his eyes to a darkened room, someone knocking on the door. He adjusts his glasses, calls, “I’m coming, I’m coming, hang on!”

He opens the door expecting to see Mako or Tendo, but instead, it’s Hermann. There’s a worried look on his face, and he gives Newt a quick once-over. “Are you…are you alright?” he asks. “Did I…did I offend you?”

Newt stares. “What.”

“I simply…” Hermann glances at him before fixing the floor with an intense gaze. “You looked upset when we got back. I simply wished to enquire as to whether or not you were alright.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Yeah, I’m…fine.”

Hermann fixes him with a disbelieving look. Newt sighs. “We’re doing this now, then, I guess,” he says, miserably. “I just…no, Hermann, you didn’t offend me. Actually, it was…it was fantastic.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Hermann asks, obviously puzzled.

“I didn’t want it to be fake,” Newt says, bluntly. “And yeah, it’s my fault for not just—saying no when you proposed the idea, but…” he trails off.

“Hang on,” Hermann says, “what on Earth are you talking about.”

Newt sighs again. “You’re obviously not interested in me, Hermann. I get it, I do—really, trust me, if you think I annoy other people, you should see how much I annoy myself.”

“No interested?” Hermann repeats.

“Well, I’d assume that’s what it means when someone rejects you multiple times,” Newt says drily. “It’s not as if I was subtle asking you out. Like, at least a few times a year. Once I even got you roses.”

Hermann gapes at him. “I—I thought you were mocking me,” he says, dumbfounded. Newt tilts his head.

“No, why would I—?”

He’s cut off as Hermann hooks two fingers under his collar and drags him forward, mashing their mouths together. It’s utterly inelegant, their glasses and teeth clacking, but when they break apart, Newt’s grinning.

“So…can I take that to mean you’re interested?” he teases. Hermann glares at him, hand resting on his chest, where it slipped to when they were kissing.

“Only if you agree to go on an actual date with me,” he shoots back. Newt grins wider.

“Deal.”


End file.
